Not All Rumours Are Bad (Or False)
by Smoaked
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Oliver has to close the zipper of Felicity's dress. / "The air around them was so charged Felicity thought the friction from her fingers twisting together would be enough to set off an explosion that burned the entire floor to flames (or maybe that was just how she felt inside because his touched always seemed to set her ablaze)."


**Prompt: Oliver has to help Felicity close the zipper of her dress. They're going to a gala or whatever together! People make remark that they're cute couple, but actually they aren't together (officially)**

**This really didn't go where i wanted it to and i wasn't sure what to do with what came of it. I'm not a big fan of it but i didn't want to just scrap the entire thing so i decided to do the best i can. Hope i didn't kill the prompt!**

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She didn't know how she got herself here. From graduating top of her class at MIT to being stuck in a hotel bathroom, unable to reach the back of her stupid dress that her stupid boss (decidedly charmingly) bought for her because he'd decided he_ needed _her for this stupid gala she'd had no intention of attending. And how could Felicity ever say no to that face? That annoyingly handsome face. Oliver knew the moment he'd asked her (as if there was any question as to what her answer might be) that she would agree. He knew she knew he knew (wow she was giving herself a headache), but he'd asked anyway. What kind of asshole_ does _that?

Realising that she couldn't truly be mad at Oliver, she'd resigned herself to accompanying him as his date (his words, not hers) to this _thing_. She figured spending a whole night with Oliver in a social setting (albeit for business purposes) couldn't be_ too _bad. They did always manage to enjoy each other's company even in the strangest of settings.

Reaching around her back to try again, Felicity let out a frustrated sigh as her nth attempt failed. Why the heck were dress zippers located at the _back_ of the dress anyway? Were they_ made_ to be impossible? Ugh. Stepping out of the bathroom, she crossed over to the adjoining suite (Oliver had insisted on booking adjoining rooms separated only by a private door). He said it was because he wanted her close at all times so he could protect her from potential threats in Gotham (he just didn't like the idea of her spending her night at some random hotel surrounded by other guys who_ aren't_ him). She didn't mind all that much even though she did put up some initial resistance, if only to cement the fact that she was an independent woman who didn't need a _"ridiculously good-looking and ripped man"_ to look after her 24/7. He'd merely replied with "The lady doth protesteth too much" and walked away with a shit-eating grin on his stupidly handsome face as she'd chuckled at his retreating back.

Lost in her reverie, she almost bumped into a shirtless Oliver standing near the foot of his bed – dress shirt, suit and tie laying flat and neatly pressed on the mattress. The man was outrageously attractive; it wasn't fair to the rest of the world when he distracted them with his looks. I mean, he didn't have to strut around half naked all the time (granted, this time it was_ her_ barging in on him in his suite, but half the time he was parading around shirtless in the foundry when he _really_ didn't have to be).

Startled, Felicity took a step back and almost stumbled, tripping over her own feet (she was always the clumsy sort) before Oliver held out a hand to steady her waist. His eyes flashed protectively, concerned and anxious (really? she merely stumbled, it wasn't as if she was held at gunpoint) for a second before turning dark, gaze travelling down her body drinking her in. Her slightly disheveled hair (she ran her hands through it in frustration), bright red lips (she only wore red on special occasions) and green dress (that he refused to believe she didn't wear just for him) gave him little incentive to keep his restraint and he struggled between trying not_ devour her like the animal he is_ and doing just that. They stood there for what felt like minutes (it was, in fact, only 6 seconds), just staring at each other. Felicity was always distracted by his general shirtlessness and this was begrudgingly normal for them (the silence part _and_ the endless staring part) but their proximity was clouding her mind and she opened her mouth, ready to start on another bout of rambling when she let out an unexpected hiccup.

Oliver would've laughed if he wasn't so fucking aroused. Leave it to Felicity to break the spell with a hiccup. Stepping back a quarter of an inch, he let his hand drop to his side. Maintaining a platonic friendship with her wasn't easy considering how much he wanted to lift her up off her feet and kiss that sheepish look off her face right now. It didn't help that they were on a verge of something undefined, having tip-toed a thin line for the past year, not knowing when or _if_ either one of them would take the leap. He knew he could never stop caring about her, or the way his eyes automatically scan for her every time he steps into a room, or how her smile is what he looks forward to most every day and the way her name escapes his lips like peace and warmth and happiness. He just didn't know what to _do _about it because he didn't know what that _meant_.

"Felicity," he almost-whispers, willing his voice to remain steady, "are you okay? What are you doing in my room? Is something wrong?"

"Oliver," she sighs. Of course he would think that something was wrong. Did he always have to take responsibility for everything? Chalk it up to the man to blame himself for everything bad that happens to her (one time, he went all broody cave-man for an entire day because she got herself a paper cut from handling all the documents at QC that were meant for him but he was too busy arrow-ing bad guys to take care of).

"Nothing's wrong." She paused.

"Well, no, that's not right, something _is _wrong, but it's not what you think. It's not a big deal. It's more of a tiny deal; insignificant really. I could probably handle it myself…in fact, I probably should, so I'm just gonna –"

"Felicity," he repeated. He never would tire of saying her name out loud (or in his head, if he was being honest). "Just tell me what's wrong so I can help you in time for the gala that started an hour ago."

"Hey! Its not _my _fault bad guys decide to do bad things at inopportune moments…ugh, fine, just help me get the back of my dress. Its so absurd I couldn't reach it if someone threatened to restore your old set-up at the Arrow Cave. I mean, you'd think a genius would be able to get herself into a dress without any problems but it seems life has different plans for me. Considering I did end up working as an IT girl for Starling City's only billionaire playboy vigilante, I won't say I'm too far off the mark here."

Endlessly amused by her side-ways ramble (he was always amused by her rambles – they gave him a glimpse of what was going on in that big brain of hers he was always trying to figure out), Oliver put his hands around Felicity's shoulders, turned her around midst-babble and brushed across the fabric of her emerald dress, fingers ghosting above the offending object. The exposed dress revealed the warm, supple skin covering the expanse of her back and it was all Oliver could do not to trail his fingertips down the line of her spine and draw patterns in their wake. Hands trembling slightly, he reached for the zip, accidentally (and definitely _not _because a small part of him really wanted to) skimming over her skin with the barest hint of pressure.

He felt her jump at the contact before continuing her unrehearsed speech, trailing off as his uncooperative hands pulled the zip tantalizingly slowly up her back. The sound of the zipper closing filled the silence then, engulfing both of them with unspoken (and oftentimes blatantly ignored for the sake of sanity) tension. The air around them was so charged Felicity thought the friction from her fingers twisting together would be enough to set off an explosion that burned the entire floor to flames (or maybe that was just how she felt inside because his touched always seemed to set her ablaze).

Having successfully closed the dress, Oliver let out a small (awkward) cough to indicate that his mission was complete. Felicity turned around and muttered an imperceptible thanks, refusing the meet his eyes. His bare, chiseled chest was staring her in the face; she never _was_ good at controlling where her mind went and she needed to escape before she jumped him right there.

"Well, I guess it's time to return the favour?" Apparently, her lack of a brain to mouth filter didn't agree with her fool-proof plan to run and get the hell out of there. She tensed and gave herself a mental kick to the shin before continuing.

"No. No, we are going to pretend I never said that. We'll ignore it, along with all my other Freudian slips. Now, if we would just get you dressed, I'm going to help you with your tie because I know from past experience that while you make an excellent vigilante, you are hopeless at tying your own ties. I thought billionaires were supposed to be good at this stuff, considering you attend a formal event every other day in a million dollar suit."

Reaching for the dress shirt, Felicity handed it over to Oliver with a raised eyebrow, daring him to refuse. Smirking but deciding to let it slide (because it was a small kindness he could afford), he held out his hand to take it, pulling his arms into the sleeves compliantly. Satisfied that he'd adhered to her demands, she turned around to get his tie when he pointedly cleared his throat.

"I thought _we_ were going to get me dressed?" he questioned, gesturing to his unbuttoned shirt, a smug grin betraying his unrivaled mirth.

"_Really?_ **Really!?** So much for being a hero. You can't even dress yourself without my help. Where would you be without me?" she lamented, not without a hint of amusement. Oliver – strong, dark and dangerous Oliver, the man who really shouldn't have to shoulder the weight of the world but does anyway without complaint, the man who has every excuse to be unforgiving and broken and _hopeless_ – still manages to find joy in the little things in life. She could never dream of denying him anything that makes his life even a little bit better. If he found hilarity in teasing her, well, she'd gladly play along (even though she'd act annoyed, because that's always half the fun).

Extending her fingers to close his shirt, Felicity made light work of the buttons, swiftly dressing her admittedly charming boss while trying not to appear affected standing within half an arm's length of his state of undress, hands hovering over his chest. _Two could play at this game. _Finishing with the last button, she grabbed his tie off the bed and tip toed to reach around the back of Oliver's neck, pulling the two ends together. Her face was merely inches away from his and she could feel his warmth on her skin; gentle, even breathing a reminder of his presence as she folded the ends into a full Windsor knot. She could feel him watching her as she worked, eyes following her movements with careful measure, studying her with a strange curiosity unbefitting a man of his age. For everything the man has been through, a boy of wonder still resided in him, breaking through at the most unexpected of moments.

"You know, if you wanted me to help you with your tie, you could have just _asked_," she teased.

"I know," he explained with discernible hesitation. "I just…have a hard time asking sometimes."

"It's okay, Oliver. That's why you have me! No matter how stupidly stubborn you're behaving, I'll always know what you need. It's why I make a good EA," she replied cheerfully.

"No. It's why you make a good friend," he corrected. "The best."

Feeling a blush creep up her cheeks, she tightened and fixed his tie between the collar of his shirt before turning her face away, praying to whoever was kind enough to listen that he didn't notice (he did – he always did). "Right, you too," she hurried, desperate to distract him from her embarrassment (and, as usual, failing).

"I mean, you're my best friend too, not that you make a good EA. Though that's not to say you would make a_ bad_ EA, just that, you know, you're obviously more of the handsome, mysterious but driven CEO type."

"Good," he reaffirmed with a gentle smile.

Glad to reach a mutual understanding, she quirked her lips and handed him his suit, gesturing for him to put it on. He obediently complied and she took no time straightening out his tie and smoothing her hands over his chest to flatten out any wrinkles in his Armani. Brow crinkled and tongue peeking out in concentration, she looked every bit _adorable_. Adorable and strangely formidable. Like she would set the world on fire if he ever so much as swatted her hands away before she was done.

Stepping back to admire her handiwork, Felicity tilted her head and beamed (no really, it was like sunshine on her face) to signal her satisfaction. She had to admit, she did great work on that tie. Pulling on his lapels, she rose onto her toes and placed a quick (and hopefully platonic) kiss to his right cheek before letting go and sliding her left hand down to his wrist.

"Come on, we need to show face at the gala before that witch Isabel spreads rumours about your apparent incompetence. I know how much you hate these things, which is why I agreed to come along in the first place, but you're going to have to _behave_ this time, okay? And if it ever gets too much, I'll be right here and you can tease me or pull my hair or make fun of my dancing. All I ask for in return is that you serve me an endless supply of red wine the entire night."

She tugged on his arm and lead him towards the door before he hooked her arm around hers and practically rushed them out the suite.

"Guess we can't leave the guests waiting then, can we?" he replied with a playful smirk.

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The night pretty much passed as expected – Oliver acting like his billionaire CEO self, Felicity by his side offering comfort however she can (one time, she kept circling her thumb on the pulse of his wrist which drove him _nuts_) and never without a glass of her favourite red wine – except by the end of it, half the attendants were convinced that the pair were secretly dating while the other half would swear by their impending engagement.

Neither of them would confirm nor deny the rumours (those blurry paparazzi shots of a couple strangely resembling said CEO and EA holding hands, engaged in whispered conversations and_ one _particular shot of them sharing a heated kiss in the middle of the dance floor were _hardly _reliable evidence), but if anyone (Diggle) noticed Oliver's sudden transformation from broody vigilante to optimistic, impish hero and Felicity's overnight surge of zest and morale, they weren't surprised.

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